rare ticket

Low key honest though

I really don’t like the way that a lot of the fandom belittles Brendon’s work. Like I see a lot of people attacking Brendon as a lyricist and making it out like he’s just riding the wave that the band as a collective started, which I don’t think is true at all.
He worked HARD on DOAB and it has probably been more successful than any previous album, it got the first number 1 album position Panic! Has ever held, which is incredible.
I don’t think he deserves some of the hate he gets and the whole point of being a fan of a band is to be supportive of them. Idk it just annoys me because Brendon is an incredibly hard working and dedicated musician, not to mention: INCREDIBLY FUCKING TALENTED, and spends like 7 or 8 months out of his year touring so us as fans can see them and experience the music we love. When some artists out there rarely ever tour and tickets are so fucking out of price it’s highly unlikely you’ll ever see them.
Rant over now. Sorry I had to get that off my chest.

Throwing the Game

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Sirius Black

AU: Modern, non-magical; private detective!Sirius + crime lord!Tom

Word Count: 768

Written For: takeupserpents [v serious writing exercise, obv]

When Regulus gets arrested, Sirius…overreacts.

It’s after midnight on an otherwise uneventful Friday in late October. Sirius is sitting hunched over the only desk they bother keeping in the office, hands curled protectively around a steaming mug of bourbon-spiked hot cocoa. He’s glaring at a black-and-white picture of Tom Marvolo Riddle—street name: Lord Voldemort—and having dark, dark thoughts about things like chiseled jawlines and lush red mouths and concentrated evil disguised as an underwear model

“Man, your hate-boner for that Riddle guy is out of control,” James suddenly remarks, sidling through the front door with a grease-stained Arby’s bag and a dog-eared manila folder.

Sirius jerks backwards, reflexively flailing his arms and knocking a stack of perfectly legally acquired photographs to the floor; his cocoa, thank fuck, remains upright.

“What—boner?” he repeats, vaguely scandalized. “I don’t—there aren’t any boners here, James, who do you think—what kind of asinine—”

James just arches a brow and offers Sirius a curly fry.

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